


Brothers In Arms

by Devilc



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - Martin
Genre: ASoIaF, Fantasy, First Time, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satin teaches Jon Snow that the nights on the wall don't have to be all cold and lonely ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers In Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [p0rn battle IV](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/363932.html), prompt  Jon/Satin, cold night, Ghost.

"Nights on the Wall are all cold nights, but some nights seem colder and longer than others," Satin says by way of explanation. Barely audible, his voice comes more as heavy puffs of frost than anything else.

Jon says nothing in reply. He knows why Satin is here in his room, uninvited.

Once upon a time, he would've turned his brother Crow from the room.

But as the soft and flickering light from the massive triple wick candle in the corner plays over Satin's olive skin and glints in his great dark eyes, Jon sees clearly now what men paid for in that brothel way down south in Oldtown.

It's as if a blindfold has fallen away.

Ghost's eyes flick open and he yawns hugely and stretches, then turns and tucks back down in the corner as Jon lifts the covers in answer to Satin's unasked question.

Jon half wonders what this will mean now that he knows what a warg is, now knows he is one. Wonders if his mind will slip in to Ghost's, wonders if it hasn't happened before, by accident. Realizes he doesn't care.

Satin slips into the bearskins, and his lips are soft and hot and wet, and his embrace is as warm as a summer day.

The feeling is as heady as Arbor wine. Jon's only ever had a few cups of that -- they drink mostly ale in the north -- but it felt as if the grapes were singing in his mouth. This is every bit as lush and potent and intoxicating.

He doesn't quite know what to do, but Satin does, and his laugh is warm and throaty with delight as he presses Jon deeper into the furs and reaches into his smallclothes with practiced fingers, freeing him, caressing him. It's been so long since Jon had a hand other than his own touch him that he can't contain the groan.

Satin laughs again, low and husky, in appreciation of what he's found and then reaches back and does something to his clothes -- Jon's not sure what -- and then leans forward and kisses him long and lush, bumping and grinding his own flannel clad hips up against Jon's bare flesh. Jon can feel the hardness there and reaches down, but Satin stops him.

"No, silly," he whispers,"not that." He kisses Jon's fingers before sliding off, face down.

_Oh._

It falls in to place. As Jon now realizes, the back flap of Satin's longjohns is open and he ...."Um ... what do I do?" he whispers. He knows what Satin wants from him, but not the how.

"Just go slowly," Satin says, turning his head, the candlelight gilding his crow-black curls."I've readied myself."

"You were so sure of how this would go then?" Jon asks, not unkindly.

He feels Satin's chuckle as much as hears it."No. I wasn't even sure I'd have the nerve to knock on your door." Pause."But if there's anything life on the Wall has taught me, it's always be ready and never do anything by half measures."

Jon can't argue with that as he finds the spot and positions himself.

_Gods!_ it's a hot, tight ring around him, not like a woman' root to tip grip. Not like a woman at all. Different, but no less good.

After he's finally seated all the way, he starts slowly stroking in an out. It's been so long that Jon doesn't dare go fast for fear of finishing too soon. Gradually he picks up the tempo, guided by Satin's hisses and grunts and entreaties for _more_ and _yes please_, and _just like that_.

When Jon discovers that Satin has taken himself in hand, he stays him, asking what Satin likes and then obliges. It's strange and almost unearthly, the feel of another man's shaft in his hand, hard and seeping, throbbing, twitching in response to his strokes and his thrusting. His hand tingles with a new awareness.

Jon comes in a blinding white rush as soon as he feels Satin both clench around him and flood his fist with the first spurt of come. The world fades out and he's only dimly aware of Satin cleaning them up and putting their clothes to rights.

And as Ghost climbs on the bed, tucking up behind his knees, and Satin sighs and shifts against him, Jon thinks that yes, nights on the wall are long and cold, but there are also ways to fill them with warmth, comfort, and even joy.


End file.
